


Nice Day (For A White Wedding)

by acchikocchi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acchikocchi/pseuds/acchikocchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo's the one eloping with <i>Cristiano Ronaldo</i>, so why is it up to Cesc to make sure nothing goes wrong? And what kind of elopement has an afterparty, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice Day (For A White Wedding)

The invitation came the day before, via email:

 _You are warmly invited to the elopement of Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo_ , Cesc read, and spat Coke all over his keyboard.

 

"You can't invite people to an elopement!" Cesc insisted into the receiver.

"Does that mean... you're not coming?" Leo asked uncertainly. 

Cesc first cursed himself silently and then resisted the urge to bang his head against a wall. "No, you idiot, of course I'm coming. Like I would miss it. I'm just saying, they're called elopements for a reason. Like, running away _in secret_. Without a guest list."

"But it is secret," said Leo. "Did you see the P.S.?"

Of course he had. _P.S. Please don't tell anyone_. Yeah, good luck with that, Cesc thought darkly. It wasn't like they were the two best football players in the world as well as global jet-setting mega-celebrities or anything—one of them more than the other, not that Cesc was naming names.

On second thought, maybe this whole eloping thing did kind of make sense.

"I saw the P.S.," he said. "So how many people did you invite?" It never hurt to start thinking about damage control in advance.

"Not many," Leo said brightly. "My teammates, his teammates, both our families—"

"All of your teammates?" Cesc said, and then, remembering the stories he'd heard, "All of his family?"

"I'm not sure?" Leo said. "He has a lot of cousins."

Cesc rubbed his forehead. "I bet," he said. "Hey, what about that Jesus-y friend of Cristiano's? Is he, y'know. Okay with this?"

"Kaká?" Leo asked, sounding surprised. "Of course. He's the best man."

"Leo, I really don't think most people have a best man at—hey! _Hey_. Why Kaká? What about me? Haven't I known you since—"

"You're the maid of honor," said Leo, and before Cesc could pick his jaw up off the ground, "Kidding."

Cesc had always known Ronaldo was a bad influence on Leo. Because Leo was getting married (god, Leo was getting married), he let it go. "You've gotten all the forms taken care of? It's really going to be legal and everything?"

"Yup," said Leo, sounding absurdly happy again. "We've even gotten someone to officiate."

 

Cesc said, "You have got to be kidding me."

"He's licensed to perform marriages," Bojan said. "Does that surprise you? It doesn't surprise me. I think he's licensed to do everything."

At the front of the hall, Jose Mourinho was chatting pleasantly with Carles. Carles said something, and Mourinho laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

This was so, unutterably wrong. Maybe it was all a horrible dream and Cesc would wake up any minute to a world where his childhood best friend was not getting married to Cristiano Ronaldo in a secret ceremony presided over by Jose Mourinho. He pinched himself, hard. Nothing.

He looked around, a little wildly, and caught sight of a familiar figure skulking near the wall, apparently trying to disappear into the shadows. Cesc lunged for him.

"Xavi," he hissed. " _What is going on?_ "

Xavi favored him with a flat look. "I am here," he said, "because Leo is my friend and my teammate and he wants me to be here. If I have to think about anything more than that I will not be held responsible for the consequences."

"You'd have a cast-iron case," Cesc said. "No judge would convict you. Besides, Pep would put up the bail—oh my god." Cesc was awash with cold horror. "Oh my god, he's coming, isn't he? Leo had to have invited him. What's going to happen when he gets here?"

"He already has," Xavi said in dire tones. "He's talking to Leo." At Cesc's panicked noise, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and said, "In the back."

Cesc was through the door and into the back corridor faster than he had ever moved on the pitch. He could hear the faint sound of voices from down the hall. Were was Cristiano, anyway? Probably appearing at the last minute in a giant helicopter and ruining all the secrecy. Supposed secrecy. Ramos had showed up in a gold suit jacket. It was probably sending out radars to every paparazzo within a five mile radius.

The voices grew louder, and when Cesc rounded the corner he found himself looking at Leo, dressed in a surprisingly stylish tux, cuffs and tie still undone. He was listening intently to Pep, whose face looked like it was trying very hard for concern and about to lose out to finely-suppressed desperation.

"—sure about this?"

"Of course," Leo said, like it was blindingly obvious. "I've never been so sure of anything in my life." He got a good look at Pep and added hastily, "Except that I would play for Barcelona."

Pep closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Leo, I understand that you're—that you're—" He eventually managed to force out, pained, " _in love_ , but maybe you should take a little more time, think it over. You don't want to rush decisions like this. And you have to know that there will be certain challenges, professionally—"

"Oh, that part's fine," Leo said, with a bright smile. "We're talking about Cris coming to Barcelona for a while."

"You're—oh? Oh. Oh, really. Well." Pep blinked rapidly, several times. "That could be—hmm. No, that might work... Maybe if..."

"Or maybe I'll go on loan to Madrid," Leo said, and Pep's eyes bulged.

 

"I'd come back, of course I'd come back!" Leo was saying urgently as Cesc gently guided Pep, who was making weak and unintelligible choking sounds, out the door and closed it behind him. He braced his back against it for good measure.

"Nice going," he said.

Leo looked distressed. "It's just an idea, and anyway I only meant for maybe a season."

"Keep working on Cristiano," Cesc advised. "How long has Mourinho got left on his contract, a year? Two? The moment he's gone, make your move." Cesc was born-and-bred Barça, but he wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to touch any kind of plan to snatch someone out from under Mourinho's nose, not even hypothetically. Mourinho's ears were everywhere.

"Cris seems to like Real, though," Leo said, sort of like it was an endearing eccentricity.

Cesc squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. "Okay, you know what, we'll deal with the work stuff after the wedding. Unless you're having second thoughts. Are you having second thoughts?"

Leo gave him a _look_. Cesc raised his hands defensively. "I'm just asking! If you want to run away with Cristiano Ronaldo, I'm on your side. It just seems like, you know, you could keep living in sin for a lot less trouble."

"I want to do this," Leo said firmly, with no trace of doubt in his face.

Cesc let out a sigh. "Okay," he said. "You better stay out of the way. I'll run interference for you out front. But when you get back from your romantic secret honeymoon or whatever, you so owe me."

Leo's huge smile almost made up for it. Almost.

 

Leo was ready to go and Cristiano still wasn't here. Cesc dodged past another swarm of chattering guests—how many cousins _did_ Cristiano have?—and scanned the crowd fruitlessly for any sign of an unhealthy convergence of attention.

Instead, he spotted Andrés across the room. He waved frantically until Andrés caught sight of him, and they snaked their way towards each other until they met in the middle of the crowd.

"Hey, you haven't seen Ronaldo, have you?"

Andrés shook his head. He looked worried. "Cesc, what happened to Pep? I couldn't get anything out of him other than that he was talking to Leo and you and now he's sort of—well—" He turned his head and Cesc followed his line of sight.

Pep was standing at the open bar (and seriously, what kind of an elopement had an open bar?), and as they watched, he lifted a glass of clear liquid to no one in particular, tilted his head back, and knocked back a shot.

"...uh," Cesc said after a minute. "You better just—keep an eye on him. Okay?"

Before Andres could answer, a heavy arm descended on Cesc's shoulders—Andrés', too, from the "oof" he gave. "Hey!" Sergio Ramos said cheerfully. "Where's the groom?"

Cesc tried to wriggle free, to no avail. "Which one?"

"Yours."

"He's waiting in the back. He's been here a while," Cesc said pointedly. "What about yours?"

Ramos shrugged. "No idea. Kaká's responsible for getting him here in one piece. I think Cris has something planned, though."

It was going to be a helicopter. He knew it. "You don't know what?" Cesc prodded and Ramos shook his head.

"Okay, well—" With an effort, Cesc managed to twist free. "Listen, I have to go. Send someone to find me if Cristiano shows up, okay?"

He made a break for it, sparing a glance backward only when he was safely out of reach. Andrés was still trapped. It looked like Ramos was getting out his phone. Oh, that was just great—Ramos was exactly clueless enough to tweet something like, _"Here at @Cristiano's elopement with a great friend and a real crack! Hugs and kisses, everyone!"_ Cesc reversed course, ready to physically confiscate the phone if necessary.

At that moment, a screech of tires cut through the noise. A hush fell on the crowd.

Cesc spun on a dime and leaped for the door. He made it there well ahead of the ensuing rush of guests, so he had a front row view of the gleaming white stretch limo that had pulled up outside. As Cesc and the rest watched, the door opened.

First emerged a white shoe, then a white-clad leg, then finally— _finally_ —Cristiano Ronaldo, in all his royalty-descending-among-the-peasantry glory. He was wearing a pristine white Armani tuxedo, and diamond earrings. And sunglasses.

Cesc was speechless.

Cristiano smiled a little at everyone and no one, and removed the sunglasses.

Somewhere, Cesc heard the sound of thousands of imaginary shutters clicking in unison.

 

It was kind of mind-boggling, but somehow not all that surprising, how the crowd just seemed to part before Cristiano like the Red Sea. Any last stirrings of resistance were swept away by Kaká's dazzling choirboy smile, graciously bestowed on all and sundry. Cesc followed in their wake, trying not to gawk.

Once they were safely ensconced in a private room on the opposite side of the hall from Leo, Cesc got a good look at Kaká. Had they actually met off the pitch before? Maybe. It never hurt to be polite. "Hi," he said. "Cesc Fàbregas. Leo's friend."

Kaká's smile ratcheted up a notch or two and he clasped Cesc's hand in both of his own. "It's wonderful to finally meet you on such a joyous occasion," he said earnestly.

"Uh," said Cesc. "Right."

Kaká went on. "Cesc, I'm sorry to impose, but I need to speak with Senhor Mourinho about the ceremony. Would you mind keeping an eye on Cris?"

Since that was already Cesc's plan come hell or high water, he nodded. Kaká, who was still holding his hand, gave it a squeeze, then released him, clasped Cristiano's shoulder meaningfully, and departed with the air of one on a divine mission.

"What's he need to talk to Mourinho for?" Cesc asked Cristiano.

Cristiano didn't seem to hear him. When Cesc took a closer look at him, his eyes were fixed on some nonexistent point on the far wall, clearly not seeing anything. "Hello?" Cesc said. He snapped his fingers, then waved a hand in front of Cristiano's face for good measure. "Cristiano? Hey, Sir Alex just called to congratulate you—"

Cristiano blinked and looked at Cesc. "What?" he said. "Were you talking to me?"

"Uh, yes," said Cesc. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," said Cristiano.

"Nice try, but you're kind of freaking me out." A horrible thought occurred to Cesc and he leaned forward. "Does it have to do with the wed— elopement? Is there something I should know? Has something gone wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Cristiano repeated. Then he asked, too casually, "Have you seen Leo?"

"Of course," Cesc said, "he's been here for—" His shoulders jerked up. "You're not getting cold feet, are you? _Are you?_ "

"Don't be ridiculous," said Cristiano, and then, quickly, "Why? Is Leo?"

Cesc rolled his eyes. "You're telling me not to be ridiculous? He's so stupidly in lo—" He stopped. Looked closer. Cristiano's eyes were just a little too wide, and it looked kind of like —

"Oh my god," Cesc said. "Are you nervous?"

"No," Cristiano said. "Of course not." A muscle in his cheek jumped.

Cesc's eyes were probably popping out of their sockets. The day of judgment had finally arrived: Cristiano Ronaldo was nervous about something involving an audience. "Wow," he said. "Okay, well, look, it's going to be fine—you go out there, do your thing, you're whisked away to an airport, and you have, what, two weeks away from the public to—you know. Whatever." Cesc shied away from any further detail. "It'll be over in minutes. Unless you really want to hang around and watch everyone else get smashed."

Cristiano gave him a little disbelieving eyebrow lift. "I'm not worried about the ceremony."

Cesc frowned. "Then what?"

Cristiano didn't answer. Cesc narrowed his eyes. His mind whirred, fitting everything Cristiano had said together —

Cesc's jaw dropped. "You're worried about _Leo?_ "

Cristiano wouldn't even look at him now.

"You're kidding. You don't seriously think he's going to, like, change his mind or something, do you?"

Cristiano's jaw was rigid. He managed to say, stiffly, "It wouldn't be the hardest thing in the world to understand."

Cesc started to speak, then stopped.

The thing about it was, Cesc kind of knew Cristiano by now, and underneath all the strutting and posing and "I am Cristiano, king of stepovers," he wasn't such a bad guy, most of the time. If he thought he himself was great, he thought Leo was even better. And if he had it so bad that he was seriously worried about the idea that Leo— _Leo_ , of all people—might wake up one day and decide he wasn't good enough...

"Look," said Cesc, and paused for a moment to appreciate a world where he was giving a pep talk to Cristiano Ronaldo. "I've known Leo since we were kids, and I'd know if he wasn't totally sure what he wanted. I was just in there with him and he's—really, really happy. About doing this." Cesc took a deep breath. "Trust me. He's not going to change his mind."

As he spoke, Cristiano's expression grew progressively—and pathetically—more hopeful. "You think?"

"Listen," Cesc said, "I just heard him telling Pep Guardiola all about how he's ready to move to Real Madrid for you. There's no way he's going to get buyer's remorse after that."

Cristiano definitely perked up at that. "Really? He said that to Guardiola?"

" _Temporarily_ ," Cesc added quickly, "and if you really love him you won't make him do it. Barcelona's a really nice place to live, you know." Shit, what was he saying, Mourinho was in the same building. "I mean, eventually. Like in a couple years."

Cristiano looked like he was giving Cesc's words some serious thought. "Hey," Cesc said, in a desperate effort to derail that line of conversation before anyone could hear he was involved, "how did Mourinho end up being your... officiator or whatever you call it, anyway?

"Hm? Oh, I asked him what the best time for an elopement would be so it wouldn't disrupt the preseason training schedule—" what the fuck, seriously, "—and he asked me if we needed anyone to perform the marriage." Cristiano's big smile looked utterly sincere. "He's really great about supporting all of us on the team in our personal life."

"Yeah," said Cesc, eyeing him. "Uh-huh.

Cristiano was looking thoughtful again. "Is Barcelona a good place to raise a kid, do you think?"

Cesc took a minute to be deeply horrified before he remembered mini-Cristiano. Right, he had to be a couple years old by now. Actually it was probably a good sign that it took Cesc that long to remember, because it meant the kid was finally managing to stay out of the Cristiano Ronaldo Three-Ring Media Circus, but —

"Oh my god," Cesc said, as it clicked. "Leo's going to be the wicked stepmother."

Before Cristiano could answer, the door opened and Kaká said, "Are you ready? It's almost time."

 

"Do you need me? You don't need me, do you."

Cesc didn't know how Leo managed to sit so still, because Cesc couldn't seem to stay in place for more than a second and _he_ wasn't the one getting married. Leo, by contrast, looked almost preternaturally calm. And he was almost—glowing. It was kind of sickening.

"I'm okay," Leo said. "You should go find a seat. I think it's going to be pretty full."

"Yeah," Cesc said distractedly, "there are ton of people out there." He gave Leo a quick once-over again. Cuffs, check, tie, check, shoelaces, check. "You know how it's going to go and everything?"

"It's going to be simple," Leo said, which Cesc thought sounded a lot like famous last words. But he wasn't going to say so five minutes before the—what was this called anyway? It wasn't a ceremony, because elopements didn't have ceremonies, and also because Cesc really could not wrap his mind around the idea of Jose Mourinho presiding over an actual wedding ceremony.

It was definitely time for Cesc to go. "Okay," he said. "If you're set, then I'll just—" He put his hand on the doorknob, then hesitated. "Are you sure…?"

Leo gave him a smile. "It's fine, Cesc," he said. "Really."

"Okay," Cesc repeated, and then released the doorknob, moved across the room in two steps, wrapped his arms around Leo and squeezed as tightly as he could, just for a second.

Leo was beaming him as he beat a hasty retreat out the door.

He nearly ground to a halt at the sight of the mass of people jammed in every corner of the hall. Mourinho was already standing before them like he was born to lead a congregation, or possibly a cult, which probably wasn't all that far from the truth.

There was no sign of so much as a free folding chair. Cesc attempted to sidle back alongside the wall. Great, now he was going to have to sit in the back and if something went wrong —

There was a very tall and very familiar figure seated in the smack in the middle of the front row, gesturing urgently at him.

Cesc made a beeline for Gerard and managed to sandwich himself in between Geri and (presumably) one of the cousins. "Where have you been?" he hissed.

Gerard looked confused. 'What do you mean? I'm on time. I was early, even."

"Yes," Cesc said, "but—" He paused. He didn't actually know how to express it, but he was sure it was unfair.

"You're the one who almost missed the important part," Gerard added which was more than Cesc could take. "Shhh," he went on when Cesc opened his mouth, "it's about to start."

The indignation actually left Cesc speechless, which was good, as at that minute Mourinho cleared his throat. A hush fell on the hall.

"Good afternoon," he said, giving the audience at large a wide smile that unsettled Cesc precisely because it looked so... genuine. "This will be a little bit of a special afternoon, hm? Because a marriage is a special event, of course, and also because we will go about it in a special way. Cristiano and Lionel cannot do things like everyone else, with the pressure of the media and the huge expectations and the different rules—" what? "—so it is wonderful that there are so many people that care about them so much to make it here on sudden notice."

Someone—Cesc suspected Ramos—let out a whistle. Mourinho aimed a killer glance somewhere to Cesc's left and the noise immediately cut off.

"This will be a simple occasion," Mourinho went on. "Simple, because they do not need any—" he made an elaborate hand gesture "—decorations, beyond what is important. All we will do is ask them a question, and then we will all witness the marriage. Maybe they will join us now?"

On cue, both doors opened.

To Cesc's gratified surprise, the crowd was split between gawking at Cristiano and gawking at Leo, who looked more magnetic than Cesc had ever seen him off the field, crisp and stylish and spotless, still with that low-key glow—which, okay, was maybe kind of cute, if you were into that kind of thing.

Cristiano, meanwhile, was framed perfectly in the doorway like he was posing for a photoshoot. Cesc could see a shadow hovering behind that he was pretty sure was Kaká, and for a minute he felt guilty for leaving Leo on his own—but Leo was walking confidently toward Mourinho, whereas Cristiano still wasn't moving. He looked as composed as ever, but Cesc frowned; he thought he detected a slightly frozen quality to Cristiano's expression.

There was a slight movement behind Cristiano, and he suddenly moved, almost like he'd received a small shove. On a lesser being it might have been a stumble; Cristiano moved smoothly forward like he'd simply been pausing to allow everyone to feast on his presence.

He and Leo reached the front of the hall at the same time. Their eyes met.

Cesc was pretty sure he heard an audible _awww_ from someone behind him as a little sigh rippled through the audience. All that was missing were actual swelling strings, or possibly a beam of sunshine shooting through the window. Cesc squirmed and muttered to Gerard, "I don't think I can watch this."

Without taking his eyes from Leo and Cristiano, Gerard reached out and clamped a hand over Cesc's mouth.

It was only Cesc's firm, repeated promise to himself that he was not going to be the one to mess up Leo's weird elopement wedding that saved Gerard's hand from bloody teethmarks. Gerard probably knew it, too, which meant he was taking blatantly unfair advantage. Cesc had to settle for slanting his bitterest glare sideways, not that Gerard was even looking.

After a minute Geri let him go. Cristiano and Leo were still utterly absorbed in their own little world and Mourinho was watching them with a benevolent expression.

Cesc wished he were sitting with Xavi. Xavi would understand how wrong this was.

"Here we have two very special people," Mourinho began. "Very special players, very special individuals. That is clear to anyone who watches them on the field, of course, but also to anyone who meets them off the field. So maybe it is not so surprising that they have such a special relationship with each other, too—the most special relationship. Now, we ask them both a simple question."

Cristiano and Leo finally tore their eyes away from each other and looked at Mourinho.

"First, Lionel." Mourinho turned his smile on Leo. "Lionel, are you to ready to spend all of your life together with Cristiano?"

"Of course," Leo said softly.

Cesc heard, from beside him, a distinct sniffle.

He shot Geri an outraged glance. What gave him the right to get all mushy and emotional? _He_ wasn't the one running around making sure Pep didn't cliff himself and some stupid teenager didn't call the paparazzi and Cristiano didn't turn into the Runaway Bride. Groom. Whatever.

Then Cesc realized there was a whole echo of sniffs around the hall. The cousin on his other side was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Fine. Whatever. He wasn't going to cry.

Mourinho was moving on. "Cristiano, are you ready to spend all of your life together with Lionel?"

Cristiano looked—so simply and uncomplicatedly happy. Cesc didn't know if he'd ever seen him like that before. All he said was, "Yes," but he really didn't have to say anything else.

More sniffs from the crowd. Mourinho gave them both another smile. "Perfect answer," he said. "Now, in the presence of so many special witnesses, we will make it legally recognized." He patted the table behind him, on which—Cesc craned his neck—was what must be the marriage license.

First Leo, then Cristiano, leaned over the table and scribbled their signature across the paper. When Cristiano finished, he straightened up and they both looked at Mourinho expectantly

"Congratulations," Mourinho said, fucking _beaming_. "You are married."

 

The explosion of noise set Cesc's ears ringing. Leo and Cristiano were immediately locked in a fervent kiss. Someone at the back yelled something raucous and probably inappropriate in Portuguese, and Cesc was surer than ever that the piercing whistle belonged to Ramos.

At the back of his mind, he made a note to himself to check the paper later and make sure it was really a marriage license and that Mourinho hadn't slipped in any secret clauses about committing their future children to any team he was currently coaching, or whatever.

Leo and Cristiano were _still_ kissing. The cousin on Cesc's other side pressed a hand to her heart and sighed. Finally they released each other, and Mourinho, looking as pleased as if he'd just awarded them each a Ballon d'Or, embraced Cristiano in a bonecrushing hug. Then he did the same to Leo.

Gerard was still sniffling. Cesc rolled his eyes. "Get a grip," he said to Geri, clapping him on the shoulder. "My sister's less of crybaby than you."

"Shut up," Gerard said thickly. "I'm not crying. And Carlota could kick your ass."

"Uh-huh," Cesc said. "Sure. I—" He was distracted by Leo, who appeared to be trying to speak over the noise. His mouth was moving, but Cesc could just barely hear him. Leo shrugged and looked at Cristiano helplessly.

Cristiano stepped forward. Cesc wasn't sure exactly what he did—existed, probably—but just like that, the noise died away and the whole room was looking at him. He stepped back and gestured to Leo.

"Thank you," Leo said to him with the smile of the utterly besotted. "Um, thank you, everyone, for coming. It really means a lot. To both of us. I know it was really sudden and some of you, um, think this is kind of crazy, but you came anyway, and that—that says a lot to me." He had to stop and clear his throat. Cristiano reached out and squeezed his hand. There was another chorus of "awww."

"Anyway, I'm really sorry we can't stay, but we're supposed to be eloping and we kind of have to catch a plane now. Hopefully before anyone else figures out what happened." A ripple of laughter. Leo grinned. "So, um, have lots of fun, drinks are on us, and—we'll see you in a couple weeks."

The noise was even louder this time. Cristiano and Leo made their way forward, both with huge, stupid grins plastered across their faces. The fact that they were holding hands probably didn't make progress any easier, but somehow Cesc wasn't surprised that the crowd seemed to open up for them, well-wishers on all sides clapping their shoulders and ruffling their hair—and then closed again behind them.

"Hey!" Cesc said indignantly and dove after them, as the entire hall appeared to try and follow.

He lost Gerard, bogged down amidst the cousins, fairly quickly. That was what he got for being tall. Cesc, not so disadvantaged, wriggled and squeezed and eventually burst out of the front door onto the step, sucking in a lungful of air. It seemed like the entire was trying to crowd forward to see off the newlyweds—okay, that just did not sound right—and Cesc had to stand on his tiptoes and crane his neck past to catch sight of them.

Cristiano and Leo were already down by the limo. Cristiano was waving in the direction of an older woman bearing away a chubby little kid—mini-Cristiano, Cesc realized, and presumably his grandmother. Kaká was next to them. How did he do it? Maybe Cesc should pray more.

As Cesc watched, Leo turned back and caught sight of him. He brightened, waving one arm. "Cesc!"

"Sorry, excuse me—" Cesc squeezed between two older women dabbing at their eyes, nearly ran over a small wide-eyed child, ducked under someone's arm, and suddenly he was there in the little circle of breathing space, the crowd at his back.

"This is the most inaccurate elopement ever," he said to Leo, catching his breath. "I just want you to have my final opinion on that."

"I know," Leo said. He was looking all—all earnest. Oh no. Cesc felt a dangerous softening somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. "Cesc—the whole time you've tried to help—you've always—"

Cesc shrugged. "I told you I'm on your side," he said. It was kind of hard to smile, for some reason. "It's not like you're one of my best friends or anything—"

Then Leo was engulfing him in a warm, solid hug. Cesc squeezed back, tucking his chin against Leo's shoulder, and for a long minute, thought just about how glad he was to know Leo.

Finally, Leo let him go, or he let Leo go, or both. His throat felt all scratchy. He swallowed once, then again, but the lump wouldn't go away. Horrified, he tried blinking several times, which only made his vision go all funny and watery.

 _Leo_ looked like he was going to cry. No, no, no. If he did —

At exactly the moment when Cesc knew he was about to lose it, someone blocked his vision, and before he knew what was happening, Cristiano Ronaldo was—was hugging him.

"Thank you for your help," Cristiano said, sounding deeply sincere. "Really."

"Um," Cesc said. He gingerly patted Cristiano's white Armani-clad back a couple times. "No big deal. Really."

Cristiano released him. Leo was beaming at them both. "You guys better get going," Cesc said. "Have a good honeymoon and all that. Have fun. But not too much. Argh. I didn't say that." Then, because he couldn't help it, "If you need anything, just call."

Cristiano nodded. Leo gave him one last brief hug. Cesc watched as they got into the limo.

Leo's head popped out. "Cesc—thank you—"

"Leo," said Cristiano's voice.

"Go, go," Cesc called, making emphatic shooing motions with his hands.

Leo gave him one last wave, then his head vanished into the limo —

They were gone.

As the crowd dispersed, Cesc remained in place just a little longer. After a minute, he realized there was someone next to him.

He turned and said to Xavi, a little helplessly, "Leo's _married_."

"Excuse me," Xavi said without expression. "I'm going to go get very drunk."

 

Xavi vanished almost as soon as they made it back to the crowd; it was a special and unfair talent of his. Cesc didn't see him when he checked out the bar, either, though he had no doubt that Xavi was following through on his word, wherever he was.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the appearance of a gaggle of Real Madrid players. Apparently, they traveled in packs. The one with the hair—Marcelo?—and his enforcer friend both sported huge earsplitting grins and were babbling a mile a minute in Portuguese. Casillas' eyes were red; Ramos, beaming, had him clutched in his tentacles. "Cesc!" Ramos cheered, catching sight of him. "Wasn't that awesome? Did you just see them off?"

Cesc nodded. "Had to make sure they escaped the mosh pit." He couldn't help noticing Cristiano's friends all seemed a lot more cheerful than the other side of the aisle. "So, uh, you guys are happy about all this?"

"Dude," the one with the hair said, "he married _Leo Messi_."

"Yeah," his friend chimed in. "Now Cristiano can be a trophy husband!"

A snort of laughter escaped Cesc despite himself. Okay, that was pretty damn funny. He was going to ask Casillas about the red eyes—maybe he was going tease him a little for being a total softie, so what—when someone tugged at his sleeve. "Cesc," a voice said urgently in his ear. "Cesc."

Cesc turned. Andrés and Bojan were looking at him with identical pairs of big traumatized eyes.

"You should come look at something," Andrés said. "Right now."

"What?" Cesc said.

Andrés tugged. "Come on," he said, "just—this way—"

"Don't tell them anything's wrong," Bojan hissed.

Cesc twisted over his shoulder. "Hey, I've gotta go see someone about something, catch you later, all right?"

Ramos and his minions were too busy chattering with each other to pay attention, but Casillas' eagle eyes narrowed right in on Andrés and Bojan. Mercifully, he didn't say anything except, "Okay, we'll look for you."

"Come on," Ramos interrupted with a huge grin, hooking an arm around Casillas' neck. "We're hitting the dance floor." Hair Kid and Enforcer cheered. Casillas's eyes got big and as Cesc left he could hear a familiar voice saying "Oh, no no no—"

Andrés had a hand clamped around his wrist and was pulling him through the crowd. "Ow," Cesc said as someone's elbow caught him in the side, and " _ow_ ," as somone else stomped on his feet. "Slow down, what's the big secret?"

Andrés spared a look over his shoulder. He looked harried. "It's Pep," he said. "He's—"

The crowd parted and revealed their manager, jacketless, tie hanging loose, slumped against the bar with his head pillowed in his arms. As they approached, Cesc could hear him singing under his breath. The tune sounded familiar.

It was "Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall."

"—really, really drunk," Bojan filled in.

Cesc whirled on them. "You were supposed to keep an eye on him!" he hissed.

"We tried!" Andrés said, looking helpless. "But he wouldn't listen to us and I couldn't find Xavi and—"

"Aha!" Pep said loudly and Cesc looked back over. Pep had caught sight of them and thrust one arm dramatically forward. He straightened and walked toward them, very carefully—didn't so much as wobble, the agility was still there—where he stopped in front of Cesc. "You," he said. "You understand. Don't you?"

"I… think so?" Cesc said. Bojan hovered beyond, all big worried eyes. Pep grasped Cesc's shoulders with both hands and looked deeply into his eyes.

"Cesc," he said. "Be honest with me."

"Uh," said Cesc. "Sure?"

"Are you going to elope with someone from Madrid, too?"

There were some things with Arsène that hadn't gone well, in the end, but at least Cesc hadn't ever had to have this conversation with him. God. "I promise," he said, "that I'm really, really not."

Pep scrutinized him. "No? What about Casillas?"

Cesc's mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?"

Then he realized Pep wasn't listening to him any more; his attention was glued to something beyond them. Andrés' eyes went the size of dinner plates. Cesc was just opening his mouth to ask what was wrong, when an ominously familiar voice said from behind him, "Good evening."

Slowly—very slowly—Cesc turned.

"Everything is all right?" said Jose Mourinho.

" _You_ ," Pep said, only it didn't sound quite as bitter and accusing as Cesc would have been comfortable with.

He swiveled back to look at Mourinho. Mourinho looked unmistakably—there was only one word for it, and oh god Cesc hated his brain—predatory. "Pep," he said. "How wonderful to see you on such a beautiful occasion."

"I think you're behind this," Pep said. "This is all one of, of your—" He took a step forward, stumbled, and fell heavily against Cesc, one arm going over Cesc's shoulders. Mourinho raised one eyebrow.

"Uh," Cesc said, "sorry,"—what was he supposed to call him? Mourinho? Jose? Your Specialness?—"sir," he settled on, "you can see he's, um. Taking it a little a hard."

To his complete and total surprise, Mourinho smiled at him—a big, warm, genuine smile—and clapped him on the back. "Leo told me what a great help you've been to them," Mourinho said. "They appreciate you so much."

"'Leo'?" Pep demanded. "Since when have you called him Leo? Since when has he talked to you about—about—" His mouth worked silently for a moment. "About his _feelings?_ "

"Leo and I have a very good relationship," Mourinho said. "Many people find me immediately…" His eyes ran over Pep and he said smoothly, "Trustworthy."

Pep... was turning red. And Cesc didn't think it was from the alcohol.

Before he had time to process all the traumatic implications, Mourinho turned to him and said, "Cesc—may I call you Cesc?—you've done so much already. You must let me help. I can take him off your hands."

Before Cesc could respond, Mourinho slid Pep's arm over his shoulder, and Pep immediately shifted his weight to hang off Mourinho. "Don't worry," Mourinho said over his shoulder, as they moved away, "I know a good hotel."

Cesc, Andrés, and Bojan were left staring after them. Which made it impossible not to see that Mourinho's other hand was definitely resting way lower than it really needed to.

Someone—Andrés?—made a little whimpering noise.

"You can't let Xavi see this," Cesc said.

"No," Andrés agreed faintly.

There was no response from Bojan. Cesc glanced at him.

Bojan was still looking the direction Mourinho and Pep had gone. He looked— _crestfallen_.

Then he saw Cesc looking and immediately went scarlet.

Cesc wasn't going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. "Okay," he said. "Um. We'll let Mourinho take care of him. I mean, of it. I guess. Argh, my eyes."

"And mine," Andrés said pitifully.

"Okay," Cesc said. "Okay, we just need to focus on—something else. Anything else. It can't get any worse from here, can it?"

Before Andrés could answer, an awful screech of feedback tore through the air and made all three of them jump.

"Hey, everybody!" Ramos' cheerful voice boomed over the speakers. "I just had a chat with the great DJ here and he's going to let me spin a few for you!" The cousins, who didn't know any better, cheered as a heavy thumping beat shook the room.

Cesc and Andrés looked at each other.

"Screw this," Cesc said. "It's my turn now." He turned on his heel and headed purposefully toward the bar.

Which meant that was the moment when the paparazzi finally found them.

 

One of the departing guests had propped open the front door, allowing some of the heat to dissipate into the night. Confetti and crumpled paper littered the floor. Now and then a voice rose over the slow jam drifting tinnily from the speakers.

"I think you can say it's all over now, Cesc," Carles said.

Cesc, face down into the table, said, "Nnngh." The small forest of empty glasses next to him rattled.

Carles ruffled his hair comfortingly. "You did good."

"If you mean no one died," Cesc said into the table. "So what if right now Jose Mourinho's probably threatening Pep's virtue."

"Jose Mourinho's doing what?" Carles said, sounding amused. "Was that before or after you started drinking?"

"You didn't see him," Cesc mumbled. "Hands. Everywhere. Like an octopus."

The empty glasses rattled again as someone thumped into the chair beside him. Cesc debated whether it was worth it to turn and see who it was, before there was a tug on his ear.

"Hey," Gerard said, "what happened to you?"

"Nothing happened to me," Cesc said. "I deserved these. Every one of them." He lifted his head, finally, just enough to pillow it on his folded arms. Geri patted the back of it.

"That was a nice job you did clearing out the paparazzi. I thought maybe you were going to chew their kneecaps off."

"It was the fuel of his righteous rage," Carles said, still sounding amused. Some captain he was. "At least we got lucky they didn't show up any earlier. Wait until this hits the papers."

"I could make a killing selling photos," Gerard said wistfully, cradling his iPhone. "Not of the ceremony—just the room and maybe the limo would do it..."

Cesc snorted. "Like you could get within a mile of a paparazzo without all over you."

"One of Carlota's friends could be the fence. I'd give her ten percent."

"There's no way anyone who's friends with Carlota would go for a decimal point under twenty-five."

Gerard sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right. Maybe—"

"Also, I'd kill you," Cesc interrupted. "And Leo would be _disappointed._ "

Gerard deflated. "You don't have to play dirty."

Before Cesc could point out that actually he was perfectly within his rights to do so, a fourth chair was pulled out from the table. The sight of the person who took it made Cesc sit up and say indignantly, "Where were you?"

"Around," Xavi said briefly, which meant "hiding in the shadows." If Cesc didn't know better he would have said Xavi was smirking.

Cesc narrowed his eyes. "Oh really," he said. "And while you were _around_ did you happen to see what happened to Pep?"

"What do you mean?" Xavi said. Then he must have suspected something from Cesc's face, because the almost-smirk disappeared and he said, "What? Where did he go?"

"Who did he go with," Cesc corrected smugly, "and wouldn't you like to know."

Xavi opened his mouth and was interrupted by a loud, "Ahem." The four of them turned in unison.

Cesc blinked twice. That was a lot of football players in formal wear. Ramos, up front, was of course the one who had spoken. He was trying to look serious and it wasn't entirely working.

"We," Ramos declared, "have decided to celebrate the union of our two houses with a proposalsition." Was he drunk or just Ramos? "We cord—cordedly—" He frowned.

"Cordially," Arbeloa said behind him.

Ramos' face cleared. "That! We _cordially_ invite you to join us in celebration of the happy couple's nip—" He snickered and Arbeloa elbowed him, "—nuptials, and also how much we don't hate each other." The attempt at formality evaporated and he beamed at them all. "Meaning we're going to get really drunk and go bowling! Who's in?"

Cesc looked at the gathering. In addition to Ramos' clique from earlier, he'd picked up Andrés again, with Bojan trailing behind. Alonso was behind him—where had he come from?—and Arbeloa and Albiol, and the French kid. Albiol had David Villa in tow, too, looking about as cheerful as usual; he and Arbeloa kept shooting each other dirty looks around the barrier of Albiol's height.

"Come on," Ramos urged, "inter-team bonding! It'll be fun!"

Cesc looked at Carles, who looked at Xavi.

"Okay," Andrés said hesitantly, even though he sounded a little dubious. "That sounds… like a good idea?"

Cesc wasn't so sure about that, but he got what Andrés was trying to say. Ramos put an arm around Bojan's shoulders and squeezed. "You're in, right, kid?" he said. "It'll be fun, get your mind off things."

"Um—" Bojan shot Carles a tell-me-what-do glance. "I guess?"

Carles was nodding. "All right," he said, and "Okay, count me in," put in Gerard, sounding thoughtful. He elbowed Cesc in the side, and Cesc said, "Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll come."

Everyone looked at Xavi.

Xavi didn't say anything. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed, like two angry little caterpillars, and his mouth flat. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Come on," Ramos said coaxingly. "It'll be fun, I promise. You can beat us like you do at poker."

Xavi was looking at something just past Ramos. Cesc followed his gaze. It was Casillas, making some kind of pleading motion; he stopped as soon as he saw Cesc looking and tried to look serious and captainly.

For a minute, Xavi appeared deeply torn. Then he heaved a sigh.

"Oh, fine," he said grudgingly, and Ramos and Marcelo cheered.

It was a warm night; the breeze on Cesc's face began to wake him up after the stuffiness of the hall. In the back, some of the guys—Cesc didn't know if they were from Real or Barcelona or both—were leapfrogging over each others' shoulders, and a laugh that sounded a lot like Bojan's reached Cesc's ears.

The pavement was strewn with rice and flower petals. Cesc hadn't even noticed them earlier. Some elopement, he thought again to himself, and almost smiled.

Gerard hooked an arm around his neck. "Happy ending for everyone, eh?"

"Speak for yourself," Cesc said. "Some of us are still single."

"Aww, don't worry," Marcelo put in, bouncing up behind them. "I bet Cristiano could hook you up with one of his cousins now that you're practically in-laws."

"Over my dead body," Cesc said, but he felt the smile tugging at his mouth even harder.

"Don't be so picky," said Geri. "Not everyone's girlfriend can be as hot as mine. Race you," he added, and took off as Cesc, laughing despite himself, dashed after.

But the thing was, it kind of was.

*

(Epilogue:

There was a clatter of flying pins as Xavi bowled his fourth strike in a row. His team—Arbeloa, Casillas, Bojan, and Marcelo—cheered. For a minute his face remained impassive—then he grinned, smugly.

"Aw, _man_ ," Cesc muttered under his breath.

Next to him, Ramos tugged him over with an arm around his shoulders and whispered loudly in his ear, "Cesc! You can tell me the truth. He's a robot, right?"

Before Cesc had to think of an answer for that, his phone buzzed. He wriggled away and left the lane—Carles was up next—for the quiet of the lobby.

"Hello?"

" _Cesc?_ " said Leo's voice. " _Um. I'm really sorry, but—our flight was canceled, and now there are all these people following us, and we can't get out of the airport?_ ")


End file.
